11: 59pm... Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Saw the fabric of your providential spirit,
the night the cars crashed hard,
against each other, glass shard cutting
limbs and faces a hundred feet away.

The angels arrived and fell upon the people,
aware they would not survive,
but were sent to stay beside them,
until time came for their bodies
to become souls...come home again.
Sirens in distant echo...much traffic, chaos;
the circus in town, and you wonder why
anxiety and arrhythmia are killing fields
of heart, mind or womb of the woman with child.

The sirens ceased... the angels disappeared
after a moment of reflection for the passing,
as the clock quietly struck one a.m., so silent,
'til a somber voice murmured 'Time of Death'.
And I watched your expressions throughout
the seconds and minutes as hope and doubt
weighed your mind like a see-saw,
a disturbing madness for certain, but-
your faith never wavered, not once, as-
I know you saw the angels too, I know, I know,
as the traffic jams they said that caused
a slow response and un-necessary deaths
had nothing at all to do with the Circus in town,
as that's not how Death works, at all.

Death does not deign any element but Time,
and Time has no supersede than the One-
who sent His angels to the souls
whose Time had come to be carried
out by Death, to a place-
where cars never crash,
where angels comfort, sing and dance,
and circus's are never seen, as-
the treasures here are far beyond
any woman, man or child could wish.

And, You knew this, from the very moment-
your body went to sleep as they lifted you
from in between two cars...
at eleven-fifty-nine p.m.,
a minute shy of a brand new day.



©Frank James Ryan, Jr./ FjR
MMXVIII-All Rights Reserved